The Warner sun. (Warner, Brown Co., Dakota [S.D.]) 1885-1???, 1887-01-21
THE PERILSOF AUTHORSHIP.

Mildred's pretty tace wore a new
expression as she toyed with her tea
spoon and tried to finish her roll and
coffee. John had just left her for his
Office. They had been married three
months, and the serious aspects OF
life were for the first time presenting
themselves.
The problem OF income and outgo
had made a fair showing on paper. A
small apartment-fuel and gas includ-
ed-one servant, and with such loads
of wedding presents, absolutely moth
ing to buy, they could actually save
money. But, somehow, there were
leaks which had not been considered,
and ten dollars covered a much small
er amount in time and space than
John or Mildred had supposed.
II wish | could do something to
help john" thought Mildred as she
gazed abstractedly out of the window.
"He has to work SO hard" and gave
a little sigh.
What can | do?" she pondered.
"What can Ido?" she asked herself
again and again, as with def touch
she Strengthened and arranged the
dainty apartment.
Suddenly her face looked as if q
door had opened and flooded it with
sunlight.
II know what I will do; / will write
a story. know lean if / try. Peo-
pie do not haveto be so awful!y clever
to do that. 1t is aknack, not a talent.
There is Mrs -, who has made heaps
OF money; and her stories are only
poor trash-all of them. John says
So"
Before another hour had passed the
outline of a plot was dancing in her
excited young brain, and as soon as
she could get the time she sat down
with pad and sharpened pencil.
Then came a pause. How shall | be-
gin?"
She drew little geometric figures on
the margin of her paper as she reflect
ed, her thoughts seeming to revolve in
q circle, returning ever to the place
from whence they started. Finally
she wrote:
I'm a small village on the banks
Of
"Oh, that is so commonplace. No;
that will not do" And she tore of
the first sheet OF her pad and reflected
again. then wrote:
Frank Atwood was the only son
OF a -
mo, no; that is too stupid" and
the second sheet Of the pad went in
to the waste paper basket.
She recalled what John had said of
the superiuous first three pages,
which might with benefit to most
stories be eliminated-for John was q
journalist and literary critic, and his
standards and ideals were just On the
measure of her own. So she thought
with great Difference OF what he had
said about tedious preambles.
He is right she said with decision.
IT is the personal interest in the
characters which we are looking for in
reading q story. All that comes be-
lore that is tedious superfuity.
II will dash right on with a letter
from the heroine, which will at once
explain the situation So with the
confidence which came from feeling
herself at last on the right track, she
wrote:
Dear Frank: return herewith
the letters, which Of course / have
now NO right to keep. Ineed not tell
you what it costs me-
"lhave reflected much upon what
you said yesterday, but | am at last
resolved. / will not see you again.
Any attempt to make me break this
resolve will be fruitless. God knows
you have only yourself to blame that
this marriage has
please ma'am," said the cook,
coming suddenly in upon the young
authoress. PLEASE ma'am, the BUTCH
or y here. Will you come and see him
and give the order yerself about hav-